


it's all your graces, your deadly sins

by escherzo



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Humiliation, Impact Play, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, S&M, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, nebulously post-170, sadist!Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo
Summary: “When you slapped me,” Jon says, his fingers still entwined with Martin's. He stares straight ahead, into the endless stretch of rooms and hallways in the hotel they are winding through. It's not Helen's domain, but it's not far off. Another space touched by the Distortion.Martin's pulse kicks up a notch. He remembers now. Of course he does. In the moment it was lost in the searing heat of the flames and the burning in his lungs, the weight of it all pressing down on him so heavy he couldn't focus on anything else, but.He remembers the way Jon's eyes closed. The way that, just for a moment, Jon's whole body went limp and swayed towards him. The absolute surrender of it.“Yeah,” he says. His voice is rough.“I want you to do it again,” Jon says.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 12
Kudos: 355
Collections: Rusty Kink





	it's all your graces, your deadly sins

**Author's Note:**

> For this rusty_kink prompt: "Martin has slapped Jon a couple times now. So now I'm thinking of them both just. Loving it.  
> Jon loves the pain and the degradation and Martin has a secret sadistic streak a mile wide and loves putting Jon through his paces. Maybe also work out a little tension? Can be pre- or post- apocalypse."
> 
> yeah folks this one is just porn there's not even a vague veneer of plot to be had. words for jon's junk in use here are cock/entrance 
> 
> title from spank by kidneythieves bc, well.

“Martin,” Jon says. “Do you remember when you—pulled me back. With Jude.”

Jude was some time ago. Time doesn't work here, not anymore, but between now and Jude was the endless loop of the recorder, the silence, the house. Letting the fog in. The muddled, swimming mess of Martin's mind and the lingering chill in his bones even after he pulled himself out long enough that Jon could find him again. Jude feels like a distant echo. A hazy memory. 

“What about Jude?” he asks. 

“When you slapped me,” Jon says, his fingers still entwined with Martin's. He stares straight ahead, into the endless stretch of rooms and hallways in the hotel they are winding through. It's not Helen's domain, but it's not far off. Another space touched by the Distortion. 

Martin's pulse kicks up a notch. He remembers now. Of course he does. In the moment it was lost in the searing heat of the flames and the burning in his lungs, the weight of it all pressing down on him so heavy he couldn't focus on anything else, but. 

He remembers the way Jon's eyes closed. The way that, just for a moment, Jon's whole body went limp and swayed towards him. The absolute surrender of it. 

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is rough.

“I want you to do it again,” Jon says.

*

“Are you sure?” Martin asks.

Jon sits at the edge of the bed, the whole room faintly off-kilter, swaying just enough that Martin would be seasick if he focused on it too long. Jon is looking up at him, with a gentle, small smile, his face upturned. Expectant. Martin hasn't done this in years. He's always liked it, of course, even with the little knot in his chest about how he _shouldn't_ like it so much, but—it's Jon. Jon, who he loves. Who knows every part of him. Who has been through so much pain already and yet is here, asking for more. 

“You're not—all of them,” Jon says, his burned hand reaching out to twist in the fabric of Martin's jumper. “You hurting me is... it's safe. I know you love me, and I know everything about what you want. Take it.” 

“Yeah,” Martin breathes out, cupping Jon's face with his hand. “Yeah, alright.” 

He pulls his hand back and slaps Jon across the face. Light at first, barely enough to leave a mark, and Jon's whole body relaxes all at once. He nods, and Martin can barely think over the pounding of his own heart as he draws back and hits Jon again. Harder this time. It startles a noise out of Jon, a soft, surprised exhalation of breath, and Martin's eyes are drawn to the faint redness of his cheek, the mark he's leaving on Jon. He rubs a thumb hard over the darkest of it and Jon leans into the touch, pushing his cheek against Martin's hand, and Martin's higher thoughts fuzz out into static. Into the desperate, wild need for _more_. 

A third strike, and this time, Jon moans. 

“God, you like this so much,” Martin says, slapping Jon's other cheek hard enough that his palm stings. “Such a slut for it. Do you want me to hit you harder?” His own face flushes at his words, but Jon doesn't tell him to stop. Pushes into the touch, his whole body curving with it.

“Anything you want,” Jon says, and his voice is laced with the static of power, so strong it makes the whole room waver. “ _More._ ” 

He snakes a hand down between his legs, palm pressing against himself, and Martin grabs his wrist to still him.

“Am I going to have to tie you up? Fuck, Jon. I haven't even touched you and here you are gagging for it,” Martin says, slipping into the headspace for this, other hand winding hard into Jon's hair to pull him into a kiss, hard and biting, catching Jon's lip between his teeth and sinking in enough to let the spark of pain pulse through Jon. “Are you always like this? Ready to spread your legs for anyone who wants to hurt you? No wonder you've got all these scars.” 

He twists his fingers in Jon's hair hard enough that tears spring up at the corners of Jon's eyes, and Jon moans again, a high and reedy thing, full of desperation. He's such a mess. Martin wants him so badly his whole body aches with it. He lets go long enough to tug Jon's shirt up and over his head, leaving it tangled around his wrists, and then sets to work winding it tighter. Jon's hips move against nothing, and Martin pauses for a moment in his work long enough to slap him hard across the face again. 

“Hold still,” he says, low, and Jon shudders so nicely Martin just has to hit him again. His cheeks are stained a bright, lingering red, his pupils blown wide, and his chest heaves with the quick, shaky breaths he's trying to catch. His chest is bony, with a strange dip where his missing ribs should be, and when Martin digs his fingernails hard into his side he whimpers with it and squirms in place. He sounds so good when he's hurting. There are so many ways Martin hasn't hurt him yet. So many options to explore. 

“You'd take anything I gave you right now, wouldn't you,” Martin says, pushing Jon back onto the mattress, his bound hands trapped underneath him. He leans down and sinks his teeth into the crook of Jon's neck, savoring the weak little noise Jon makes, struggling ineffectually below him, and sucks hard enough to leave a bright, vivid mark behind. 

“Yes,” Jon says, opening his eyes. They glow a bright, vivid green in the darkness of the room. “I, I want--”

“I know what you want,” Martin says, shifting down the bed to take one of Jon's nipples into his mouth and bite down, and Jon arches up into it. They only register pain sensations anymore, but that's alright. That's what Jon needs. The peak stiffens under his mouth, and he licks over the point of it, relishing how responsive Jon is to every touch. Every place he sinks his teeth or his fingernails into, Jon pushes into. 

Martin fits his fingers under the waistband of Jon's trousers and tugs down hard, hard enough that the fabric scrapes against Jon's skin as he goes, and he leaves them bunched around Jon's ankles, trapping his legs as Martin slips a hand between Jon's thighs, spreading the slickness around. 

“God, you're wet for it,” Martin breathes, thumbing at his cock. “Such a slut, _look_ at you. Look at how hard this little thing is.” 

Jon's face flushes a deeper red, but he pushes into the touch as Martin presses down harder on his cock. “Oh,” Martin says, grinning. “You like hearing how little it is, huh.” 

A small, plaintive noise escapes Jon and his hips rise to meet Martin's hand. He nods, face going redder still as he hears the slick sounds the movement of Martin's fingers make, twisting against his makeshift bonds as his whole body struggles to take more. 

“Not—inside, there,” Jon manages, as Martin's fingers threaten against his entrance, and Martin pauses. 

“Oh?” Martin says. “Where?” He shifts forward, brushing against Jon's hole instead, and Jon makes a wild noise as Martin starts to press one finger inside, easing the way with Jon's own slick. “Here?”

He pulls his finger out and flips Jon over, and Jon is so small, so light, that he goes easily, hands and feet still bound, unable to do anything but allow it. He doesn't have much of an ass, but it's still lovely, and as Martin slides a hand down his back he arches, face pressed into the pillow and hips up, an invitation. Martin slaps him, watching the way it reddens, the faint quiver of flesh, and then again, and Jon moans into the pillow, half-muffled. 

He keeps hitting Jon, until the moans break off into hitched, sniffling noises and the brown of his skin is turning deep red and purple, mottled with bruises, but even then, Jon rocks into every strike, hips working. He stills all at once, visibly twitching, and Martin realizes all at once that Jon just _came_ , untouched, from nothing but the pain. 

“Hurts,” Jon says, his voice a wavery mess, but he doesn't say _stop_. Martin smooths a hand over his sore, abused ass, and he pushes into it. 

“More?” Martin asks, and Jon nods. Martin grabs his cheeks with both hands, digging in hard to the bruises, and licks over his hole, and Jon's hips arch up higher, his spine curving. His bound hands clench and unclench, fingernails digging into his palms, and he presses his face harder into the pillow, trying to muffle the noises he makes as Martin loosens him up enough to press his tongue into him properly, his hole wet with spit. 

“I'm—I. _Martin_ ,” Jon manages, squirming, and this time, Martin can feel it when he comes, the way Jon's hole clenches around his tongue. He doesn't stop, slicking up his fingers and then pressing in two all at once alongside his tongue, feeling the unbearable tight heat of Jon around them, and Jon is crying for real this time as Martin starts to fuck him in earnest, both fingers pushing in and out hard. It has to hurt, Martin fucking him like this so soon after he's just come, but he's not pulling away. Not saying stop. Martin's other hand digs in harder, fingers pressing into the bruises, and he gets a rhythm going, watching his fingers sink into Jon's body. He wants more, his whole body alight with it, but—not until Jon asks. 

“Martin,” Jon says, plaintive, and Martin pulls his fingers out, sits back enough to yank his jumper up and over his head and throw it aside, unbutton his trousers, finally allowing himself some relief. 

“Hmm?” Martin asks, shoving his trousers down around his hips and shifting forward, his cock sliding against Jon's skin, leaving slick trails behind. “Was there something you needed?” 

“I.” Jon starts and then breaks off in a yelp as Martin slaps his ass hard again. “I need--” 

“Tell me,” Martin says. He smooths his fingers over the bruises, making sure to dig his fingernails in to the darkest of them, and Jon whimpers. 

“ _Please._ ”

“Please what?”

Jon turns his head enough to look at Martin, and his face is absolutely crimson, tear-stained and reddened from humiliation and Martin's hands. “Please fuck my arse,” he manages, all in a rush, and Martin's cock throbs with it. 

“Alright,” Martin says, teasing over his hole with the head of his cock. “Wouldn't want to deny a slut like you what you need. If you want your arse fucked so badly I can do it. ” 

He presses in all at once, sinking in in one smooth motion, and Jon makes a wild, high noise, squirming, trying to adjust to the cock he's stuck on, and Martin grips his hips tight and holds him in place, fingernails digging in. Making him take all of it. He doesn't give Jon time to adjust, drawing out nearly all the way and then fucking back in hard and fast, and Jon digs his fingernails into his own palms and moans as Martin sets up a punishing rhythm, hips slapping against Jon's, pressing against the reddened, bruised skin of his ass with every movement. 

Martin reaches between them and thumbs over Jon's cock, and it only takes two quick strokes before Jon is coming, shuddering around him. He grins, sinking in all the way and then holding there for a moment as the aftershocks pulse through Jon's body, before drawing out and then giving Jon the full length of him again, loving the way Jon squirms and twitches and shifts, his body instinctively trying to get away from the overstimulation, but he doesn't tell Martin to stop. Doesn't protest as Martin holds him in place tighter, making him take everything Martin is giving him. 

Martin presses in deep before he comes, filling Jon up, and Jon comes again, a weak, shuddery thing.

“Okay?” Martin asks, after a moment, and Jon huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says. “Definitely okay.” 

Martin pulls out and settles beside Jon on the bed, a hand curved over his sore, bruised ass, and he knows Jon can feel the smile in it when he presses a kiss to the back of Jon's neck. 

“Love you,” Martin says, and he lets his eyes close, just for a moment, as Jon murmurs the words back. This isn't a place they can stay, not for long, but for now, Jon is warm and soft against him. He can rest for a moment.


End file.
